In the interest of brevity I’ll confine my response to just my straight male friends.

Let’s start with Timmy Henry. He was a year younger than me and lived about three houses away from my boyhood home. His mother was a registered nurse who was often called to our house whenever anyone got sick. His father was the neighborhood drunk. Timmy and I had a passion for baseball cards and we would try to outdo each other almost weekly as we added to our collections. We played baseball quite a bit during our early teen years. He was a better athlete than me (who wasn’t?), but he usually selected me to be on his team at sandlot pick-up games. We also played a lot of marbles in the alley that separated our houses. I never saw Timmy again after I graduated from high school, but I remember him as a good childhood friend.

Wally Brill, also a year younger than me, was my best friend from my junior year in high school through my graduation from the University of Scranton and departure to law school. Wally and I had many shared interests. We played a lot of basketball on his home court. Although he was bigger than me I could drive around him and score on a hook lay-up. He didn’t always beat me. We played wiffle ball at the nearby schoolyard for hours on end. We enjoyed playing cards (poker, pinochle and hearts). We were essentially equals at bowling. To demonstrate what a good friend he was he saved my life twice, or at least I give him credit for doing so. The first time was when I was in college and during the summer break I went on a fishing excursion with Wally and his brother (my first and last fishing experience ever, not counting the Arshawsky trout farm event nearly 20 years later). I can’t remember how it happened but I ventured out too far in the lake and and found myself under water. Wally pulled me up. The second occasion was the night (actually wee hours of the morning) before his wedding in upstate New York. After the rehearsal dinner those of us in the wedding party decided to have am impromptu bachelor send-off for good old Wally. We got a bit tipsy, however, and thought it would be fun to throw the poolside furnishings in the Holiday Inn pool and sit on them there. I missed the chair I was aiming at and slowly but surely started to descend in the deep end of the pool. Again Wally saved me. I’ve seen my friend just once in the last 50 years and that was at a Mass at St. Patrick’s Church during a Scranton visit about 15 years ago. He has, however, kept in touch by sending me a Christmas card every year since 1970. For as long as she was able to do so my wife responded to his cards, bringing him up to date on events in my life.

I mentioned in a previous chapter that during my college years I became friends with four guys in the accounting/business courses who lived “up the line” from Scranton. I had one other good friend who lived near me in West Scranton. That was Tommy Joseph. (Don’t ask me why I was befriended to guys with two first names, like Timmy Henry and Tommy Joseph.) Tommy was married and had a full-time job selling business forms while getting his college degree. He grew up in an abnormal family environment, as his father was incarcerated for a while and his older sister was in and out of drug rehabs. But we studied quite a bit together and he had a great sense of humor. He was a fan of harness racing and so we spent many a night at Pocono Downs, placing $2 bets on the trotters and pacers, sometimes with a tip from a stable friend of Tommy’s.

The first friend I made in law school was my first-year roommate, Bernie Yanovich of Waterbury, Connecticut. He was as extroverted as I was introverted so it was a good match. I made more friends because he got me involved in various activities. While not the brightest student nor one who was interested in investing a lot of time in studying, he was a politician from the word go, becoming President of the Student Bar Association at CUA Law School. After graduation he returned to Waterbury to practice law. Unfortunately Bernie died young. I never have learned the cause of death. 

It was in law school that I also became friends with Al Lubiejewski of Erie, Pennsylvania. Al had the highest grade in my class and could have obtained a position with any major law firm. He was a humble and simple man who would never be comfortable with that. After law school he first worked as an attorney for the Securities and Exchange Commission in Washington and bunked with me for about 18 months in my apartment at McLean Gardens. We split the rent ($127 a month for a 1 bedroom apartment!) but I provided all the furnishings and usually the food and beverage, and gave him the mattress of my bed to sleep on. He loved basketball and was quite good at it. I believe he was a high school star in Erie. His true passion, though, was for music. On many a Saturday we would go to a record store and Al would suggest to me what albums I should buy. Then, upon returning back to the apartment he would tape his favorite songs from each album. It was a while before one of our neighbors at McLean Gardens, who had a crush on Al, suggested to me that Al was taking advantage of my generosity. That was probably true, but he was such a gentle guy I couldn’t get mad about it. After 18 months Al had it with being a Washington government lawyer and went back to Erie where he opened his own real estate and wills/trust practice which he has now conducted for 50 years. More importantly to him, I’m sure, is that he hosts two weekly radio shows playing jazz and blues music.

My most lasting friendship from law school has been with Dan Vitiello. I hung out a lot with Dan and his wife, Karen, during my second and third years of law school and we have remained friends all these many years. I loved them both. The Vitiellos and the Bradys (Bob and Monica) and my wife and I have enjoyed many times together both as our children were growing up and also when we all became empty nesters. I related in a previous story how Dan and Karen came to rescue me from a D.C. police precinct one Sunday in 1971 where I was detained on account of numerous unpaid parking tickets that were not of my doing. I will also never forget that Dan showed up at my father-in-law’s wake just days after he had cancer surgery. Dan has remarried since Karen passed away and I’m happy that he has been given the opportunity to travel with his new wife and become part of her family unit.

Then there is Coleman White. How did that happen? A friendship between a handsome smooth-talking ladies’ man and an older nerdy guy that should already be put out to pasture. Is it just because we both like cocktails and wine? Whatever, why question it. For the past 15 years at least he has been my best friend, especially since my wife was diagnosed with multiple myeloma. I will never forget his supportive trips to Little Rock. I will always be appreciative of him giving my son a good job and helping me get to Scranton for my sister’s funeral . I was honored to be the best man at his wedding and to be his sponsor for his Confirmation. He’s the guy I would want in a foxhole with me, maybe along with a few bottles of Chardonnay.

I cannot end this essay without mentioning Jackie. My cousin and I were raised in the same household and spent our childhood years together. He was 4 years older than me, but only a grade or two ahead of me in school. When he was not promoted from 6th grade to 7th grade, which meant we would have been in 6th grade together, he dropped out of school, presumably upon the decision of his parents, my Uncle Bill and Aunt Ann. I don’t know why, and I regret that I never asked about that or the reason for any other deficiency in his development. At the time it was taboo to talk about it. I grew up thinking he was just socially retarded or mentally challenged, although he was quite knowledgeable and interested in things he cared about, like baseball. My niece thinks he may have been afflicted with cerebral palsy. Whatever the cause he was my daily playmate for a number of my childhood years and I have happy memories of the games we played. He would never hurt a soul and what happened to him, being struck by a hit-run driver from which he never recovered and which robbed him of the limited pleasures he had, was so hurtful. He was my first friend, and I hope that in any remembrance or recitation of my life he is not forgotten.